


Self Styled Fist

by pseudoku



Category: Street Fighter
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Humor, Martial Arts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoku/pseuds/pseudoku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the events of Street Fighter Alpha, Dan runs into a new face during a training outing who could have much to teach him. If only Dan was the kind of guy who ever learned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self Styled Fist

"Now. If I'm reading these sacred texts correctly, I need to place the bulk of my weight on the back leg, exhale from the abdomen, and snap my opposite hand forward in a slapping motion..."

Dan mentally prepared himself, straightening his back into its natural curvature and fixing his gaze of the tree three feet ahead. On it, a sheet of paper had been taped down. It contained the crude drawing of a lanky, bald man with an eye patch and several scars. There also appeared to be some sort of wavy lines emanating from the figure. Closing his eyes, Dan shifted his left foot back, tensing every muscle in his body for a moment, and then let out a piercing howl as he thrust his left palm forward.

The cry of “Fatheeeeer” echoed though the woods around him as a beautiful blue light emerged from his hand. It began as a flicker in the centre of his palm, grew to more than twice the size of the outstretched arm, and then propelled itself forward with the sound of a roaring fire... It made it about three inches this time, before it began sputtering, and then collapsed in on itself as quickly as it was created. Dan was pretty sure that's farther than it had gotten last time. The piece of paper seemed to have fluttered a bit in response, that was new.

Dan let a celebratory smirk show of his face, and was about to flex his left bicep as reaffirmation of his power, when a stiff breeze blew from behind, loosened the paper, and sent it slowly fluttering away. He watched the target fly until it was out of sight, stared into space for a little while afterwards, then let out a sigh and turned around.

He had the supplies for his training retreat laid out on a pinned down on a blanket next to his sleeping bag, with an old, well-worn journal laying at the top of the pile. It was still open to the last page he'd been reading. “Yeah. I didn't think 'slapping' was really the right word there,” he thought out loud. “Creating sacred texts would be a lot easier if I could read my own handwriting.”

Taking a seat, notes in hand, Dan scratched the back of his head and took another shot at interpreting the meaning of the words he'd written so long ago. If there was one thing he'd always been good at, it was learning the first half of something new at record speed. His old journals and scrapbooks were a testament to that. The second half, on the other hand... When Sagat killed his father, he was still a child in many ways. He'd been old enough to get the hang of the fundamentals from Goh Hibiki, but he hadn't quite mastered badass-level skills yet: the kind that would incapacitate an opponent so long that he'd have time to actually use one of his classic one-liners (which, he'd be proud to point out, made up a significant chunk of these notes).

The day it happened, however, changed a few of his long term career goals. It was going to take more than some sweet karate kicks and a winning personality to avenge his father's murder: Sagat was... well, you couldn't really compare him to a mountain: that implied he might be slow. He was a seven foot, muscle-bound nightmare who knew exactly how much power he had. Still, if anyone was going to stop him, it might as well be a plucky underdog turned badass martial arts master. After all, who doesn't love a good motivational montage?

The only problem was, finding someone who could fill his dad's shoes as a teacher turned out to be more difficult than expected. His quest eventually led him to Gouken, a walking “old hermit that lives on a mountain” stereotype that used “Anatsuken”, some sort of secret assassin karate. He also hated it when Dan called his style “Secret Assassin Karate”. In the end, though, all Gouken had to offer was more half-lessons. The old man might have known his stuff, but to get to it you had to wade through eight or nine layers of self-righteousness. He might have been able to run circles around the other two students (and no, it doesn't count that they were, like, 8 and he was 15. Age is nothing but a number), but it was never going to work out. Sooner or later, he was bound to find out that the goal of Dan's training was, ultimately, revenge. Hippies like that can only be bothered with “enlightenment” or “inner tranquillity” or whatever. Try to learn how to fight for some **actual** reasons and suddenly your some kind of monster.

Dan flipped back a few pages, marking where he began recording that part of his life. As irritating as Gouken and his bratty students were, he knew better than to just throw those teachings away. In his heart, his dad was the only real teacher he ever had, but it's not every day you meet a guy who knows how to shoot fire from his hands. The chapter went on for about fifty pages, so Dan figured he should try re-reading from the top just in case there was anything else he was forgetting. An hour (and a few dozen asterisks next to words he might have misremembered) later, the sun had already begun to set. He took that as a sign that he'd trained enough for today, and began setting up a fire. Tomorrow they were calling for great weather, and he'd want to get up bright and early to practice some of his cool new taunts.

 

It was a pitch-black, moonless night when Dan was awoken by the sound of rustling papers. He turned over in his sleeping bag, trying to make out the source. It was coming from a few feet away, but through the darkness it was difficult to make out details. It could be a raccoon. Or a bear. Either way, he wasn't really sure how to react. Over time, his eyes began to adjust, and he could slowly make out the figure in front of him:

The man couldn't have been under 65, and Dan thought that was still being generous. He couldn't make out many details of his build, but he was bald as a volleyball, and had eyebrows that were probably bushy enough to double as wings if he ever got in a bind. His clothes looked loose and tattered, like some sort of monk getup. He turned another page in the worn notebook, shifted his gaze towards Dan ever so slightly, and said “I hope you don't mind me asking but what, exactly, is a 'Supreme-Victory-Relying-On-No-One-But-Myself Fist?'”

“Still in the alpha stages of development, that's what it is,” Dan replied, trying to wiggle out of the sleeping bag as gracefully as possible, “also, it's patent pending, so I'm going to have to ask you to hand that book over gramps. It's got a lot of sensitive information.”

“Oh. Yes! Of course!” the old man muttered, seeming to fumble out of embarrassment for a moment or two. When the charade was up he began handing the book over, stopped half-way, and added “Although, I hope you'll excuse my prying, but it occurs to me that we may have some similar acquaintances... you wouldn't happen to know a fellow named Gouken, would you?”

A light gleamed in Dan's eye. He certainly wasn't in the market for a new teacher, but if this geezer had any nuggets of assassin-karate wisdom rattling around in his head, he wouldn't be too proud to hear him out.

“Sure!” he quickly replied while rising from the sleeping bag into a pose that he assumed looked dignified, “who doesn't know that old beardo-monk around these parts? Dan Hibiki's the name, practitioner of the Saikyo-Ryu school of Karate. If you're an old pal of his, I'm sure he must have mentioned me before.”

The old man frowned. “I'm afraid not, but then it had been some time since I last got a chance to see him, and now there's much I'll probably never know. I don't suppose you've heard about his recent passing?”

“Oh... oh I'm sorry about that. Do you know what happened? He didn't get sick or something did he? I thought that old martial arts masters that slept in caves were supposed to live to be, like, 500.”

“If only that were true, but I'm afraid I haven't heard many details myself. Only rumours. To be honest, I had been hoping to run into one of his students, to see if they knew more, but... well. Where are my manners. I am Retsu. Gouken and I trained together in our youths. I was out on a training retreat when I saw your camping equipment and assumed you were doing the same. And when I saw the hadoken sketched in your notes...

“Gadoken.”

“Pardon?”

“Ga-do. As in, self-taught-fist. All the mystical-fireball, with only half the hands. Great at parties.”

Retsu rubbed the back of his bald head in response. “I'm sensing a bit of a theme here. Do you mind if I make a fire? We can have a seat and discuss this further.”

Dan shrugged his approval, and Retsu left to collect some kindling. While the fire was getting started, he decided this was a good time to get back in uniform. Dan typically just slept in the pants of his gi and a black t-shirt, so he really only needed to throw on the uniform top and his belt (Dan's fashion tips: Dress like this, keep your hair tied back in a tight ponytail, and you can go a week without having to shower). Shortly afterwards Retsu had a modest flame started, and the two sat on either side, legs crossed.

“Now then,” Retsu, began, “I just wanted to make sure I've understood. From your notes, I had assumed you were a student of Gouken's?”

Under the light of the fire, Dan could finally get a better view of his visitor. Retsu was every bit as elderly as predicted, but his body never seemed to have gotten the memo about that: The guy was a tank. His neck muscles had neck muscles, and something about his arms and legs vaguely reminded Dan of a rhino. He was wearing what looked to be an old karate gi with a black cloth vest over the shirt.

“Well sure, I learned a few things from the guy, but there comes a point where the baby bird's gotta fly, you know? You can only get so much water from one well.”

“That's... no. I don't think you have that right. Should I take it you two weren't on good terms when you left?”

“What makes you say that?” Dan was slightly offended at the suggestion. It's not like he was being rude or anything, right?

“Well, to be frank, your gi. Anatsuken's roots have strong traditions against men wearing any upper-body clothing under their uniforms. Even if you now study... Saikyo-Ryu, was it? It's interesting that you would still make such a basic departure from your roots.”

“I... but... I mean, what about you?” Dan stammered, not quite sure why he took offense to that, “what's up with your sweater-vest look? Does it get a little too chilly when you're in the dairy aisle?”

Retsu gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, I'm no student of Gouken's, this is the traditional garb of a Sorinji-Kempo practitioner. I'm honestly a little surprised you've never heard of it before. But then, I'm sure the masters of this Saikyo offshoot still have plenty to teach.”

Dan cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Uh, I **am** the 'masters' of Saikyo. I invented it.”

The old man went silent for a moment, pondering that response. “And have you trained under anyone else after your tutelage with Gouken?”

“Pssh. I need no master but myself.”

“And you've heard the old adages about the self-taught having a fool for a master?”

“I thought that was lawyers.”

“I'm confident it applies to a many things.”

Dan measured the weight of Retsu's words. “Nooo, I'm pretty sure I've only heard it applied to lawyers.”

“Well regardless,” Retsu replied with a sigh, “it seems I may have made a mistake. I was hoping you would know more about Gouken's passing, but it looks like you've heard even less than I have. I'm sorry if there was any falling out between the two of you.”

“Thanks, I guess. I mean, he was kind of a stick in the mud, and a little preachy, but the guy wasn't that bad, really. He definitely didn't deserve what happened.”

“No one does.” Retsu bow his head silently. After a few moments had passed (slightly awkward ones on Dan's part), he rose to his feet, wiped the dirt off his knees, and said “Well then, how about a demonstration instead?”

“A what-now?”

“I may not have been able to see Gouken one last time, but I've still had the fortune to run into one of his old students, no matter how estranged. It would give me some peace of mind if we could spar, and I could see an example of his legacy first hand.”

Dan gave a monumentally cocky smirk and rose to his own feet. “Ask and ye shall receive, buddy. I should warn you right now though: I'm not Gouken. The secrets of Saikyo are unlike anything you've probably seen before!”

Retsu gave another laugh. “I should hope! After all, ours is not to mold the next generation as if they are clay. We can only plant the seeds, and the earth shall decide what grows.  
“Now.” he added, cracking his neck, “let's begin.”

 

Five minutes had passed. Retsu was tying his belt after straightening out the jacket of his uniform. Behind him, Dan was on his knees, silently leaning forward and holding a hand over his nose.”

“Can you tell if it's broken?” Retsu asked, genuinely concerned, “I can help take you to a doctor if you like.”

Dan shook his head vigorously, then let out a small whine once he realized what a bad idea that was.

“Well, I'm staying in a town not too far from here,” he said, taking a page out of Dan's notebook and writing some information on it, “if you need any help at all, here's where you can find me.” He offered the scrap to Dan, who didn't move a muscle.

“You know,” Retsu continued, sticking the scrap back in the notebook like a bookmark, “you weren't joking when you said your style was new to me. I was especially impressed by your... what was it called? 'Severing Air Leg?' you may not have mastered all of Gouken's teachings, but you've certainly found some interesting ways to compensate.”

Dan narrowed his eyes, which Retsu took as a sign that he didn't like being patronized. The old man smiled to himself and put a hand on his shoulder. “You know, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you this, but one of the main tenants of Karate is the development of a firm, unshakable spirit. I can't remember the last time I came across such a fine example. Always remember Dan. You'll never truly lose if you never stop trying.”

With that, Retsu rubbed his head one last time, took a small bow, and departed through the woods back into the darkness. Once he was out of view, Dan slowly rose to his feet, picked up his notebook, and pulled out the scrap of paper.

“Speak for yourself old man,” he though to himself. “I already know what drives me, and it's more important than a million pep talks. I don't care if I'm not yet strong enough to fight Sagat. If a job needs to be done, it needs to be done. Sometimes life is just that simple.

“Still,” he mused, “he DID leave his full name with the contact info. 'Can't remember the last time he saw such a fine example of the tenants of Karate eh? Maybe one day, when I've had my revenge, words like that will come in handy. Hell, they'd look great on the back of the 7-Minute Saikyo DVD set I've been putting together.”

**Author's Note:**

> You might have guessed this was partly based on some old concept art of Dan losing a fight to Retsu. It's hard not to root for Dan at least a little, but I also just wanted a chance to do something with a character as rarely used as Retsu. If there's any inconsistencies or character issues, feel free to let me know. I'm always a fan of criticism.


End file.
